linguistics of my life

it was such a happy memory that remembering it makes me sad 

the problem with being too much loved is you depend on other people. You look for the other people. you long for them. you search, you try to catch. But not because you seek love but because to give love. To transfer the excess. 

we can be in love, we as you and me. but you and I can never know what love is for each other, because it has so little about loving itself.

I would never know if he was the one that saw what was in me or I was first to discover what I could be with him. 

I am thoughts and flesh, words and bones, tears and songs. wounds and holes.  

I couldn't say him that my mind was like a Jackson Pollock painting.

it is not about buying the services anymore. you try to buy time time time 

lately all I've been thinking about is will I ever be able to leave? I'm getting paranoid on things I started to own, things that I like to own. it is possible that someday they would own me? Did they already? What if I stuck with them? Yet still I also feel that I have stuck with an idea that it's easier to runaway when you have nothing. Is it? But where do you head when you don't have anything? 

... but still in a moment of solitude why do I feel so crowded?

if you can't change your world, then try to change your words.